He Still Lives

He still lives.

I thought I had killed him. 

But here he is again. 

I wonder . . . is he immortal?

And, if I can’t kill him,

who the hell can?

He lingers still.

How?

How?!

Why?

Maybe there is something left here for him to do?

. . .

Don’t ask me. I figured he was gone and buried. 

I never did understand him, 

but I used to listen. 

He had so much to say—so much to do. 

He had such beautiful dreams . . . 

Dreams he probably would’ve achieved. 

But I killed him; 

or, I thought I did. 

I asked him once what motivated him. 

You see, he was always so bloody determined. 

Do you know what he told me?

. . .

No. What he told me was this, 

“I am a living thing. I will die, never to be born again. That’s my motivation.”

And he was right. 

I knew that as long as he was alive he would never stop trying. 

So I buried him. 

It was the only logical way to get him to stop. 

But

      his coffin knocks. 

. . . His coffin knocks. 

And the earth shakes. 

. . . Maybe I made a mistake?

What’s so wrong with wanting to be great?

. . .

My mental health? It’s fine. 

I asked him about his mental health once, though. 

His words still ring behind my eyes . . .

“What about your mental health?” I asked.

“Bottom line,” he said, “you don’t have to cope with your anxiety. This world is filled with possibilities of failure; but the thing is, that’s what gives life its charm. Fear isn’t unpleasant. And safety isn’t always pleasant. Anxiety is a feeling one gets when one challenges themselves. So, if one must sacrifice something to gain victory, I say, sacrifice your body. It is just a collection of cells. Glory is forever.”

I cringed. I really did. 

I have 300 trillion cells in my body and I like every single one of them. 

To sacrifice them for something as silly as glory seems . . . well, immature. 

He was willing to die for glory. 

And I was willing to kill him before he obtained it. 

But . . . 

          the coffin is knocking. 

I hear him with every one of my heartbeats. 

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

. . .

I don’t believe it!

He’s breaking out of his grave!

The world shakes!

The world shakes!

Thump!

Thump!

Thump!

This was a terrible mistake  . . . 

Supposedly he represents ‘strength’.

What a joke. 

The kids told me he represents hope. 

Nope. Doubt that. 

And God explained to me that he represents courage. 

I rolled my eyes. 

Yet, I killed him and he is still alive . . . 

I asked him once if he believed in God. 

He said he did. 

I asked him why. 

He smiled and said God speaks to him. 

“What does he say?”

“Only one thing over and over again.”

“What’s that??”

“RISE.”

CH 7/3/26